


This Is The Way

by jynzandtonic



Category: Adam Driver Character Universe, Star Wars - All Media Types, The Dead Don't Die (2019)
Genre: BOBA FETT x LEIA ROLEPLAY, Blow Jobs, Boba Fett Needs A Hug, Breathplay, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Corgis, Cosplay, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, I'm tagging that just because it popped up and Boba Fett DOES need a hug, LEIA!reader, Light Bondage, Light Choking, MANDO!Ronnie, Multi, Penis In Vagina Sex, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, did I mention it's STAR WARS ROLE PLAY SEX, gratuitous cringey star wars talk, the mandalorian - Freeform, well it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27545743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jynzandtonic/pseuds/jynzandtonic
Summary: MANDALORIAN COSPLAY BIRTHDAY SEX WITH RONNIE! MANDALORIAN COSPLAY BIRTHDAY SEX WITH RONNIE!Yeah sorry y'all aren't getting any more of a summary of that lulz.
Relationships: Ronald Peterson (The Dead Don't Die)/Reader, Ronald Peterson (The Dead Don't Die)/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 22





	This Is The Way

**Author's Note:**

> Nobody asked for it, and I DELIVERED! Well, siren-muse @empress-ofdesire sent me a tumblr ask about Leia cosplay and no undies and _*screech*_ here we go. 
> 
> My Officer Ronnie is an Original Trilogy super-nerd and is confirmed to have a top-tier Boba Fett cosplay outfit. He definitely ‘ships OT rare-pairs… aaaand you’re about to make his all his Boba Fett x Leia fantasies come true. For the sake of the costume, imagine you’ve got a braid (however that might work for your hair type). As most of y’all know, Ronnie and Pancakes (reader-chan) both like a lil’ breathplay, and this ain’t their first rodeo, so consider it pre-negotiated. 
> 
> PS. You assholes better not get all weird and Oedipal on me with this shit (unless that’s your thing, in which case carry on, but I don’t wanna fuckin’ hear about it); this is Ronnie. RONNIE! Ronnie hasn’t even seen the ST, even though people keep telling him he has some sort of doppelgänger in it? Anyway. He might finally decide to watch The Mandalorian after this.
> 
> ················································
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr [@jynzandtonic!](jynzandtonic.tumblr.com) ʕ •ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡ 
> 
> ················································

He’s a creature of habit. 

He showers every morning, combs his hair neatly, wipes the lenses of his Clubmaster-frame glasses till they’re sparkling clean. He fills his _Empire Strikes Back_ travel mug with hot coffee and checks to make sure the lid is sealed properly. He even checks the shiny silver Police Department pins on the lapels of his uniform. Well, he’s been checking ever since you started intermittently replacing them with ‘[better ones](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.etsystatic.com%2F15191075%2Fr%2Fil%2Fbc0538%2F1411490164%2Fil_1588xN.1411490164_1scg.jpg&t=ZTE1NTUyZDBmMzlmY2ViN2JjZDhhZDEwNjMyNGIwODgxN2M4NzZiZSwwYzM3OWIyM2ZlMWEwOWFiMWE2OWMzNGM5ZDU3ZWZkNmUyZmU3YzEx)’ that someone else would _inevitably_ point out.

He’s a creature of habit, and a liiiiittle suspicious of odd goings-on. 

He knows _something_ is up when you ask him to meet you at home after work instead of picking you up at the bakery like he does every day, but then again, this isn’t _every day_ : today is Ronnie’s birthday.

The door to the little cottage you share swings open with a press of the latch— _you must be home if the place is unlocked_ —but you’re nowhere to be seen as he peeks into the living room and kitchen. 

“Pancakes? Where are you?” he calls into the empty house.

“Check the box!” you yell down from your second-floor bedroom. 

“What?!” he hollers back, “Oh..” stopping when he sees it sitting at the base of the stairs.

Lifting off the bow-topped lid, he registers the battle-marred green of his Boba Fett helmet—wait, his whole cosplay outfit is in here. There’s a note, too. He picks it up and reads your familiar handwriting:

> _**Put this on and meet me upstairs. xx** _

Well, he supposes he doesn’t need much convincing to wear his Boba costume, but he _does_ wonder what you’re up to as he dons the weathered grey fabric and secures the plating of the Mandalorian armor. When he puts the helmet on, _damn_ , he feels good. 

_Ronnie Fett_ , he thinks to himself proudly, padding up the stairs, _fiercest bounty hunter in the Outer Rim._

But when he reaches the threshold of your bedroom and sees what _you’re_ wearing, he freezes like he’s caught in a ray shield.

“Oh my god…” The first time he says it, it’s muffled behind by his helmet.

Serpentine gold strands intertwine and outline the bikini top that barely covers your breasts; a long braid falls from the crown of your head, covering the collar that encircles your throat. You lounge on your side, your top leg propped open to flaunt your exposed cunt—fully on display below the shield-like triangular bottoms. Your mouth is slack as with pleasure you slowly fuck yourself with an iridescent glass toy. He drops his model blaster on the floor when you bring it to your lips to lick your juices off, staring right where you know his eyes are behind that visor.

He tears off the helmet and rushes toward the bed. 

“ _Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—_ ” 

He shuts up when his mouth finds yours, kissing you furiously. He moans, and you know it’s because he can taste your pussy on your lips. He’s always hungry for it, but you’ve got other plans for this evening. 

“You’re my favorite person in the whole world,” he gasps, pulling back to look at you again.

“Galaxy,” you correct, revealing the chain attached to your collar and pressing it into Ronnie’s gloved hand. “Now put your helmet back on, bounty hunter.”

He… he looks like he’s fried a chip.

You know it’s not really fair springing all this on him—he probably could’ve tempered his excitement a bit and stayed in-character if he’d known you were planning this ahead of time, but you just couldn’t resist watching him flip his fucking lid.

“Come on,” you encourage, tapping on the mythosaur skull sigil at his shoulder, “you just rescued me from Jabba’s Palace. Now where do you want me?”

He grins stupidly and pulls his helmet on. “C’mere, Princess,” he says, climbing off the bed and giving your chain a playful tug as you rise to follow him. 

You sink to your knees when he settles himself on the edge of the chair in the corner. 

Unbuckling his utility belt and tossing it aside, your fingers catch the waistband of his pants and work them over his hips. Your mouth waters at the sight of his cock bobbing free—long and thick and veiny and rock-hard, _all for you_ —but you’ve gotta figure out how to undo his fucking knee armor before you can get his pants down the rest of the way. _Ah, clasps at the side_. They fall to the ground with a thud and you push his bare legs wide, crawling between them.

Running your hands up and down his thighs, your gaze is hooded and glinting as you scan over his visor. 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since Cloud City, Boba—I just _had_ to see you again,” you say, licking your lips. 

He nearly whimpers at that, but stifles the sound by clearing his throat. _Keep it together, Ronnie,_ he thinks, _you’re a Mandalorian. You’re tough. You’ve got this._

He takes a deep breath, composing himself. “Have you, Princess?” he asks, running a hand down your braid. “And why is that?”

You kiss the tip of him softly, lapping up the lustrous pearl of precum he’s leaked with a flit of your tongue. “So I could do _this_ ,” you rasp, keeping your lips on his cockhead. 

You wrap a hand around the base of him, squeezing lightly to thicken him further, and swiftly glide your wet mouth down his shaft. Ronnie bays in his helmet, thrusting his hips up into you involuntarily. Even with your lips stretched tight on his cock, they tug tighter into the hint of a smile as you take him deep, moaning loudly as you go— _god, he’s so fucking happy right now._

Pulling up to his tip, you hollow your cheeks to suck, fluttering your eyelashes and looking up at him. He wraps your braid around his fist as you brush your tongue back and forth on his frenulum, swirling all the way around his head before sinking down his length again. 

Humming happily, you set your rhythm.

Ronnie groans when you cup his balls, tugging and kneading while you drag your lips along his shaft. You feel them pull up and tighten in your hand, his breathing going ragged. He twitches against your tongue, letting out a gasp before he pulls you off him by your braid, a shiny strand of spit connecting his cock to your gaping mouth. That connection is broken as his gloved hand clamps down on his tip, squeezing hard to stave off his orgasm.

He releases your braid and snatches the chain dangling from your collar. “Up, Princess,” he snarls. “Don’t you want to ride this bounty hunter cock?” 

“Oh, _kriff_ …” you whine, knowing how much he’ll love that snippet of canon dirty-talk, “Please, Boba, _please_. I’ve had to be so _proper_ , so _responsible_ for so long… My whole life has been diplomacy and duty.” You trace over the gold strands on your bikini top then drop your hands to his muscular quads, pushing yourself to standing. “I don’t want to be proper anymore. I want to be a _bad_ girl. I want _you_.”

Ronnie rips off the gauzy, plum-colored train of fabric that drapes down from your bikini bottoms, unveiling your glossy cunt—arousal smeared from your folds to your inner thighs.

“And aren’t you _eager_ , Your Highness?” he says, pulling you closer to straddle his lap, the cool air tingling your hot, slicked-up pussy. “Are you this wet for all your duties in the Galactic Senate? Or is this something special for me?”

You stutter as he slides your core against his shaft, parting you with his length. “It’s f-for yyy-you, all for you.”

With Ronnie’s size, you normally wouldn’t be able to take him without cumming on his fingers and mouth first, but you’d worked yourself open with your toy _just_ enough for his fat cockhead to breach your entrance. 

The stretch of him is heart-stopping as always; you choke on the cry it forces from your chest, mouth agape and eyes pinched shut—but no matter how much he is to take, you’re always impatient for more.

It’s hard work impaling yourself on his length, your cunt clamping down on him as you push, push, push your hips down to his. You can hear him panting in his helmet, the sound hot and strained and greedy as his fingertips dig into the soft flesh of your waist.

“I knew I had to have you the moment you pulled out that thermal detonator at Jabba’s Palace,” he growls, “but I had no idea your cunt would be so _tight_.”

Your pussy grips him desperately while you rise up his cock, as if protesting the loss—only conceding when you drop your hips to fill yourself again. He guides you by the waist as you start to bounce in his lap, marvelling at the way you sheath him to the hilt with every stroke, the lushness of your body, the gleam of the gold against your skin, the collar on the column of your throat. You drop your head back, lost to the cadence of your pleasure.

“ _Auuhhh_ , Vader’s gonna be so pissed I’m boinking his daughter…” he chuffs.

Your head snaps up. “Ronnie, shut the fuck up!” you laugh, “I’m not supposed to know that yet!” 

“Shit, sorry! Uh, forget I said that,” he blurts. “Call me Boba Fett again?”

You oblige, but it turns to a moan as his leather-clad thumb presses into the cleft of your pussy.

The golden, triangular front piece of your bottoms is nearly eclipsed by Ronnie’s splayed hand as he finds your clit below. He strokes and rubs and teases, the texture of his glove smooth and unfamiliar and delicious between your folds. You can feel your bud swelling up at his touch; jolts of electricity crackle up your spine each time the seam along his thumb grazes against you.

His soft, broad swipes tighten into swift circles _right_ where he knows you need them. He hums deep and low as you start to quiver and slam your hips to his roughly. 

You’re coming apart, and he sees it. 

He uses his free hand to flip the chain over your shoulder, spinning your collar around to follow, pulling back and down gently as you fuck yourself on his cock. And oh, the added pressure of the collar at your neck sends you careening over the edge. You cum loud, gushing and clenching, all feverish cries and jagged moans as he carries you through your high. 

He unclasps your collar and it slips to the ground; the fresh rush of blood sends new waves of ecstacy shredding through your veins, leaving you panting and boneless in his lap. You cling to the chest-plates of his armor and rest your forehead against his helmet as he delicately strokes at your throat, allowing you a moment to recoup. 

Your eyes are dark with lust when you lift your head to look at him. “What are you waiting for, bounty hunter? Claim your reward.”

Ronnie’s hands fly to your ass, squeezing roughly as he starts grinding you on his cock so hard your vision spots out. Your stiff, swollen clit rolls against his body with every pass, and he’s crushing up against your g-spot, and your pussy starts to flutter around him again… and you lose yourself to the rapture of it all as you feel him start to pulse deep inside you.

Ronnie cums, and he sees stars. 

He sees stars streaking into the blur of hyperspace as he sits in the captain’s chair of _Slave 1_ , his princess shaking and moaning and gasping in his lap, pumping his Mandalorian seed into your royal Alderaanian cunt. Perhaps you’ll bear his children: strong warrior children with eyes like yours, children he’ll teach to fire a blaster and fly with _Z-6_ jetpacks, children who would grow to follow the _Resol’nare_ and _Canons of Honor_ , and—

You knock on the side of his helmet, muffled grunts still reverberating inside it. 

“Hey. Hey. Earth to Ronnie.” It’s been a minute or two since you came down from your climax, but Ronnie… seems like he’s still in orbit. “You all good in there?”

“Mmmph. Mhm.”

You need to get him downstairs for the next phase of _Operation Birthday_. 

“You’ve got cake down in the kitchen, birthday boy. You want some?”

“I’ve got cake right here,” he mumbles, his large hands still clamped down on your ass, pinning you to his hips.

“ _Birthday_ cake.”

“Birthday cake.” He squeezes you harder, shifting you so that cum leaks from where you’re still joined. 

You know how quickly Ronnie bounces back, that he’ll be fucking you through another orgasm or three if you don’t snap him out of it now. 

“And a _present_. An _extra special present_ that can’t wait.” 

His head perks up in a way you can only assume means he’s looking at you. “This wasn’t my present?”

Placing your hands on either size of his helmet, you pull it off to reveal his sex-pink cheeks and ruffled hair. The fog on his glasses starts to dissipate as you press your lips to his. 

“This wasn’t your _only_ present,” you say, climbing off his lap, pausing to lick up the puddle of cum at the base of his cock. He groans as you kiss just underneath his swollen tip. 

“Should I put my pants on?” He watches as you get up to grab a silky robe from the closet, shrugging it over your shoulders.

“Probably.”

“Do we get to do this again later?” he asks hopefully, tucking himself back into his trousers and fastening his belt. 

“Definitely.”

He puts his knee-armor back on before following you down the stairs, because of course he fucking does. What Mandalorian would be caught without knee-armor? 

_Nerd._

You could’ve made him any number of fancy cakes or pastries, but you knew what the big kid really wanted: funfetti cake with extra sprinkles, right outta the pan. He forks a large piece into his mouth, smearing a bit of frosting on his cheek in his gleeful haste. 

Your heart swells up a little when you look at him. Here he is, eating shitty rainbow box-mix cake, dressed up in a Star Wars costume, happy as can be. You chuckle softly, because if it weren’t for the roleplay fucking, this would basically be a 12-year-old’s birthday party.

While he’s distracted with dessert, you sneak off to the laundry room to fetch his present—the present he never actually _asked_ for, but has been bitching about for months. 

Crouching down, you scratch the belly of the corgi-mutt you’d brought home from the shelter a few hours earlier, now snoozing happily on a plush bed at least three times larger than necessary. 

“C’mon, bud. Let’s do this,” you say, patting your thigh as the little muppet dog rises to follow you back into the kitchen. 

Ronnie drops his fork right in the frosting when he catches sight of you.

“No. No. You really got me a…” His eyes look watery. The metal covering his knees clanks as it hits the floor.

“Happy birthday,” you say, watching the pair of oversized ears bounce en route to where Ronnie kneels. “Meet Yoda.”

**Author's Note:**

> ················································
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr [@jynzandtonic!](jynzandtonic.tumblr.com) ʕ •ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡ 
> 
> [Buy me a whiskey?](ko-fi.com/jynzandtonic)
> 
> _No trigger is too small-- **ask me and I'll tag it!**_
> 
> **A brief note on sex and gender:** I'm AFAB nonbinary, so I while I write for fem!reader (anatomy-wise) and I *do* have a soft spot for certain gendered pet names (which are always tagged if applicable), I hope there's enough space for folx at a variety of places on the gender spectrum to feel included in my fics xoxoxo.
> 
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